


Crossfire

by FantasySwap



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mentioned Drug Abuse, Murder Mystery, References to Suicide, Size Difference, alternative universe, but there is a serial killer on the loose, mentioned rape/non-con, no pennywise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2020-10-19 12:33:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasySwap/pseuds/FantasySwap
Summary: Turns out Georgie’s best friend is an eighteen year old kid called Eddie Kaspbrak. He’s been friends with Georgie since seventh grade, where they met for the first time, and he goes to the same shitty Derry high school that Richie and Bill went to before they left for college.***Nobody seems to think Georgie’s death is suspicious except for Bill and Richie, and a hyperactive kid called Eddie who won’t leave Richie alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i’m not sure i’ve got their characters nailed yet but i’m working on it!
> 
> let me know what you think <3

Richie has never been very good at staying out of trouble. It seems to follow him everywhere, a situation that’s only exacerbated by his lack of brain to mouth filter and an unstoppable need to have the last word. He’s been in far too many fights that he’s not proud of, and a few that he is.

Still, it’s rare that he gets to say Bill is the cause of his latest trouble.

He’d come back with Bill for the funeral, of course. He never met Georgie but from the way Bill had talked about him it was obvious they were close, and he’d have to be a pretty shit friend to let Bill brave his kid brother’s funeral alone. 

Seventeen years old and dead, Richie thinks to himself. It’s fucked up.

The funeral is a somber event, as expected. Bill doesn’t cry, but he watches as his parents do and he grips Richie’s hand so hard that afterwards, Richie has tiny, crescent moon shaped marks indented into his skin. There’s nothing he can say to make the situation better, so he keeps his mouth shut and waits until after everyone has left to ask if Bill wants to get wasted. 

Bill casts a grim glance over his shoulder at his parents and shakes his head, mouth set in a thin line. They’re in Bill’s house now, with the majority of guests having gone off back home, away from the stifling atmosphere of mourning. Richie is staying as a guest in Bill’s house for as long as Bill wants him there.

“Come with me,” Bill murmurs out of nowhere, dragging Richie by the hand. The house is empty and dark, and even though Richie never met the kid he thinks maybe it’s because Georgie is dead. A house with so many rooms should have a family to fill it up, and this one just feels miserable.

Richie is half expecting it when Bill pulls him into Georgie’s room. He hasn’t had many experiences with grief - the only family member he’s ever lost was his great grandmother Gloria who he’d never met - but people react in different ways. It makes sense for Bill to want to be near to Georgie.

What he isn’t expecting is for Bill to close the door quietly behind them and start rifling through Georgie’s sock drawer. He considers asking what the fuck Bill is doing, but ultimately decides against it. Maybe it’s better that he lets his friend get whatever this is out of his system before he starts questioning him.

Except it turns out that maybe that’s not the greatest idea after all.

Bill turns around to face him with Georgie’s phone clutched in his hand.

“Bill…” Richie starts, hesitant. “What’s–”

“The police aren’t doing shit, Richie.” Bill tells him, voice stony. He’s not letting himself feel any kind of emotion, and Richie knows that it’s all going to catch up with him at some point. “They’re ruling it a suicide. They’re saying he jumped.” 

Richie swallows. “Bill…” he tries again, but Bill isn’t going to let him speak.

“It’s not.” His jaw clenches and he glares Richie down, daring him to say otherwise. “He wouldn’t. Georgie wouldn’t do that– I know him. I talked to him a few days before. He _ wouldn’t_.”

Richie doesn’t know what to say to that. Can you ever know if someone would or wouldn’t? Bill knows his brother better than Richie does, but is this just him grasping at straws?

“What do you want to do, Bill?” Richie asks, sitting on the edge of Georgie’s bed tentatively. The covers are folded neatly and there’s an arrangement of stuffed animals lined up on his pillow. Richie feels mildly nauseous.

“Someone killed him. Somebody killed Georgie. I want to find out who.”

Richie feels his heart sink. He’d had a feeling something like this was coming.

When his silence stretches out from seconds to minutes, Bill surges forward and waves the phone in Richie’s face, demanding attention. Richie wants to ask how he got to it before the cops, but Bill is working himself up into a panic and he doesn’t want to ask unnecessary questions.

“We need to get into this.” He says, no nonsense. Richie blinks. “It’s password protected and I have no fucking clue how to unlock it, but maybe one of his friends would know? We have to ask. There could b-be something on here that tells us something. Maybe someone messaged him? Maybe there would be a f-fucking _ explanation._”

Richie watches as Bill breathes heavily, chest rising and falling, and reaches out to tug him down onto the bed. He hasn’t heard Bill stutter in a long time, but what with all the stress of the occasion it’s no wonder he’s reverting back to when he was a teenager.

“Have you tried his birthday?” Richie asks. It’s unhelpful, he knows, but it’s more like what Bill wants to hear than a point blank no. “Childhood pets?”

“I’ve tried everything, Richie. Every fucking thing I could think of. But it’s okay– I know someone we can ask. There’s a boy– Georgie’s b-best friend. They went to the same school - he wasn’t at the funeral but if we go there tomorrow we can find him. I bet you he’d know how to get into this thing.” He shakes the phone in Richie’s face once again for good measure.

Richie doesn’t want to point out how desperate Bill is sounding right now, how unlikely it is that this random kid will know Georgie’s password. He doesn’t want to point out how unlikely it is that they’ll actually find anything on the phone, or the probability that maybe, just maybe, Georgie really did jump.

Bill is his best friend, so when he turns to Richie with big, desperate eyes and says, “You’ll help me with this, right Richie? You’ll help me?” there really isn’t any way Richie can say no.

***

Turns out Georgie’s best friend is an eighteen year old kid called Eddie Kaspbrak. He’s been friends with Georgie since seventh grade, where they met for the first time, and he goes to the same shitty Derry high school that Richie and Bill went to before they left for college.

Richie thinks it would make him less of an asshole to say he remembers the kid, even if only a little bit, but he doesn’t. To be fair, he doesn’t remember much about growing up in Derry; in between repressing all the unpleasant memories and trying to kickstart a new life, everything felt like a bit of a blur.

Besides, apparently this Eddie kid hardly ever left his house when he was younger. Apparently Bill only ever met him once or twice, when his holidays at college coincided with Georgie’s holiday, and Eddie would come over to play video games.

So Richie doesn’t really know what to expect as they’re standing outside Derry high school at four in the afternoon the following day. It makes Richie feel all kinds of nostalgic, listening to the bell ring for the end of the day. There’s a thundering echo and Richie swears he can feel the ground vibrate.

Then, seconds later, the doors burst open and an avalanche of school kids topple down the stairs. It’s literally a flood of teenagers heading towards them, and Richie feels kind of unsafe.

“Um, Bill?” He asks, looking over. Bill’s gaze is trained on the sea of students, but Richie doesn’t even know what Eddie looks like. “Are you sure we’ll be able to find him like this?”

“We have to,” Bill replies, distracted. “He’s kinda short, got brown hair…”

“Wow, Bill, enlightening.” Richie jokes. He worries, for a split second afterwards, that he’s fucked up and he should just be dead serious about this stuff. Bill just lost his brother, for Christ’s sake, he shouldn’t be cracking jokes.

But Bill just snorts and mutters, “I haven’t seen him in a while, okay? Fuck off.”

They settle into silence after that, but it isn’t really silence. College had definitely been a step up from high school, but getting an actual job and, dare he say it, an actual adult life really made him forget how much he fucking hates school. The thought of going back to college in a few months fills him with a kind of dread he can’t explain away.

He gets barged into approximately four times by four different annoying prepubescent tweenagers and he’s on the verge of just legging it out of here, but then Bill is grabbing his arm and pointing somewhere to their left.

“There!” He hisses. Richie tries to follow his arm but there are too many people darting in and out of view that it’s impossible. He sighs. He loves Bill and he’d do anything for him– especially right now, but this isn’t the first time he’ll have to have finished something Bill’s started.

There’s a part of him that wants to tell Bill this is pointless, that he’s only going to hurt himself even further or find something he doesn’t want to know.

There’s an even bigger part of him that wants to jump into this with the same enthusiasm he used to reserve for college prank wars. Entirely different situation, of course, but Richie Tozier is nothing if not consistent.

Kind of, maybe, not really. But still.

He grabs Bill’s hand and urges him forward towards Eddie who is supposedly somewhere nearby. It’s a struggle, pushing himself through a crowd of angry highschoolers desperate to get home, but he manages thanks to sheer force of will and a much superior height.

“So what’s the game plan?” He mutters, knowing that Bill can hear him through the way he stiffens up. “Just bump into him and… what? Why wasn’t he at the funeral, anyway? What are you gonna say to him?”

Bill opens his mouth, maybe to reply, but Richie never gets an answer because Bill seems to spot something more interesting. He yanks his hand out of Richie’s and brushes past.

“Eddie!” He yells. Richie spins around, cursing under his breath, to see the kid Bill must be talking about. 

Bill’s basic description of Eddie doesn’t really do him justice, Richie thinks, and maybe it’s a totally inappropriate situation to be checking someone out in but Richie has never really been great at distinguishing appropriate from inappropriate.

He is short for his age, standing almost a whole head below Richie, and his hair curls at the ends like he hasn’t quite been able to tame it properly. He’s dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans, and he has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. 

He’s cute, is Eddie’s first thought. He’s dead Georgie’s best friend, is his second. He’s staring at you, dumbass, is his third.

Except, he’s not really staring at Richie. He’s staring at Bill, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in surprise. It’s clear that Eddie recognises Bill, which makes sense given how he was best friends with Georgie for seven odd years, but he just looks terrified.

Bill isn’t doing too well either, standing there gawping at Eddie like he has no clue what to say, so Richie steps in to do what he does best. He talks.

“Eddie, my man, so nice to meet you.” Richie almost falters when Eddie’s gaze slides over to land on him, piercing and distrustful. “Have you gotten taller? Man, we should catch up more. Hey, listen, Bill wants to ask for a favour–”

“I’m sorry,” Despite being both younger and smaller, Eddie’s voice carries in such a way that Richie, for once in his life, is stunned into silence. “Do I know you?”

“Eddie,” Bill interrupts, shooting Richie a dirty look. “Please. We need your help.”

That gets his attention. His eyes dart between Richie and Bill and he shuffles his feet uncomfortably, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder. Then he’s taking a half step closer, lowering his voice as though anyone nearby will be straining to eavesdrop. For all Richie knows they could be. Derry is a fucking wildfire of gossip.

“It’s about Georgie, isn’t it?” He asks. Richie doesn’t know why, but it surprises him, like he hadn't been expecting the kid to be so clued in. “I knew it. Did the police find anything? Is that why you’re here?”

He talks a mile a minute and his hair flops over his forehead as he bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. If both Bill and Eddie, the two people that know him best, think that something suspicious happened with Georgie then maybe it’s actually a valid theory.

“So you think so too?” Bill sounds relieved, which in turn relieves Richie. It’s not like he’s on babysitting duty or whatever - God knows he shouldn’t be trusted with that kind of responsibility - but he does feel like he ought to be watching out for Bill at least.

“Of course.” Eddie scoffs like it’s stupid that they should even ask. “The cops around here didn’t know shit about Georgie, clearly.”

“But you do?” Again, Eddie’s gaze flickers to Richie. This time, though, instead of glaring at him, he looks down and bites his bottom lip like maybe Richie has hit a nerve.

“Eddie,” Bill continues, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the sudden tension present. “Can you unlock this for us? I really feel like we could find something useful on here, something that could help with–”

This time, Bill definitely notices how Eddie reacts. He goes very pale and the hand that was playing with the strap of his rucksack flies up to run his fingers through his hair nervously.

“Listen,” Eddie mutters, swallowing hard. “I can’t talk about this here. I have to go meet my mom. Can we meet later? There’s a diner a few blocks down from here–”

“I know it,” Richie interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest. He has to remind himself that this is a kid, a kid who has recently been through the trauma of losing his best friend nonetheless, and he shouldn’t be a dick to him.

So when Eddie brushes past them both after getting a verbal agreement to meet later that evening, Richie calls out, “See you later, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie pauses mid stride, shoulders hunched. He looks back briefly to scowl at Richie in a mixture of confusion and irritation, but Richie can’t help bust notice the dusting of a light pink blush high on his cheekbones. Then he’s turning round and hurrying off again, disappearing into the throng of other students.

“That was weird, r-right?” Bill asks as soon as he’s gone. 

“It was just a nickname.” Richie says immediately, defensive and a little embarrassed. But then Bill gives him a suspicious look, eyebrows drawn together.

“I meant his reaction, idiot.” He rolls his eyes.

“Oh,” Richie says dumbly, feeling his cheeks heat up and the unmistakable feeling that he’s been caught out somehow. “Yeah. Weird.”


	2. Chapter 2

The diner hasn’t changed a bit since Richie was last here, four years ago. He’d thought briefly that maybe the town wasn’t actually as bad as he remembered; maybe, through the goggles of his eighteen year old self, Derry just looked like a shithole because he’d wanted so badly to escape.

Nope. Four years later and the place looks even worse than it used to, crumbling brick and dilapidated, peeling paint. Posters curl at the corners and his menu has at least three unidentified stains on it.

It’s dark outside, and the artificial light inside the diner threatens to give Richie a headache. He and Bill have been here for ten minutes already waiting for Eddie to arrive, surviving the death glare of a terrifying waitress by ordering coffee that tastes like dirt and drinking it slowly.

“Are you sure this kid is coming?” Richie asks after another five minutes, drawing little patterns on the tabletop with his pointer finger. The only other customer here is an aging man eating breakfast food and ogling the waitress. It doesn’t look like Eddie is coming.

But Bill just fidgets and nods, leg jerking up and down as he stares out the window. All he can see is his own reflection staring back at him.

“He’ll be here,” He says, sounding so sure. “He said he would be. He’s coming.”

“That’s what she said,” Richie says, because the opportunity is too good to miss, but he says it quietly, so that it sounds miserable.

Then the bell above the door is jingling and they both swivel in their seats so fast that the cheap, faux leather makes an embarrassing squeaking sound below them. Eddie sees them immediately and, with a resigned sigh, makes his way over.

“Hi,” He says when he reaches them, not sitting down. He looks down reluctantly at the booth and the table, sticky with spilled milkshake and sugar, before shrugging himself out of his coat and laying it down over the seat. Then he slides into the booth next to Richie and sits primly, back straight and hands folded in his lap so that no part of his body is actually touching the furniture.

As a result, the right side of his body is pressed up fairly close to Richie, and Richie thinks he can feel the kid’s body heat radiating where their thighs are pressed together under the table.

“What do you t-think happened?” Bill says, without even greeting him. Richie can’t blame him for being impatient, and Eddie seems relieved to skip the smalltalk anyway.

“Well he didn’t fucking kill himself,” he replies testily, voice pitching up at the end. Bill winces at his harsh words but nods like he expected this answer. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Richie asks. He feels Eddie’s shoulder stiffen, just a little, and wonders what’s got the kid so jumpy. 

It takes a moment for him to reply, but when he does his words are significantly slower than before. “Earlier that day,” he tells them, looking down at his lap. “We talked online.”

That brings their attention back to the matter at hand, and Bill pulls Georgie’s phone out of his pocket hurriedly. Eddie bites his bottom lip again as though he’s reluctant to take it, and whilst he’s curious as to what’s got Eddie so uncomfortable about the phone, there’s another part of Richie that can’t help but admire what Eddie looks like with his lip between his teeth. A part of him that wonders what he would look like with his lip between Richie’s teeth.

“Can you get into this?” Bill asks, sounding a little desperate. There’s a moment of silence where Richie can’t help but be paranoid that the waitress or the pensioner or listening in on them, and he’s tempted to shout something wildly inappropriate just to get them to stop watching, but then Eddie’s reaching out with trembling fingers and taking the phone.

It takes him all of ten seconds to unlock Georgie’s phone. He lays it on the table between them face up, curling his shoulders around himself protectively afterwards. Nobody speaks.

Because he’s awkward as fuck and doesn’t know when to stop, Richie says, “As long as we don’t look through his search history, right?”

Bill mutters, “Shut up,” at him without even looking, but Eddie looks scandalised that he’s making jokes about this. Richie almost jumps out of his skin when he feels the kid’s heel grind down onto his foot in retaliation, but it’s more out of shock that this stranger just _ attacked _ him than from actual pain.

Richie is dramatic, so he calls it an attack. Part of him just finds it funny.

“You might not like what you find.” Eddie warns them suddenly, head turned pointedly away from them. Richie meets his gaze in the reflection in the window, and Eddie flushes, looking away.

Bill doesn’t ask what he means, but he does look slightly cowed as he reaches out to take the phone. He holds it close to the table so that Richie and Eddie can see what he’s doing. Richie is half expecting something terrible to pop up, but the most surprising thing is… there’s nothing there.

It looks like a regular teenager’s phone. There’s an assortment of apps, a couple music playlists, and when Bill pulls up his messages it brings up text conversations between friends and family members. The last message he received is from Eddie.

“Don’t go?” Bill reads, confusion colouring his words. “What did you mean? Go where?”

“Listen,” Eddie says. “There’s some stuff that you… probably don’t know. Some stuff about Georgie, about what he was doing.”

“What w-was he doing?” Bill asks straight away.

“Drugs,” Eddie says bluntly. At the shocked look on Bill’s face he goes on to clarify. “Not, like, hard drugs or anything. Just pills and shit like that– Adderall I think. Some other stuff. He didn’t really take it– just bought it.”

“Why?” Richie asks when it becomes clear Bill isn’t going to say anything. Richie is familiar with taking Adderall; he wouldn’t have thought there was all that much of a market for it in Derry. “Why buy it but not take it?”

“I think…” Eddie sighs. “I think he was trying to impress someone, or supply someone else. He had… sometimes there was a lot he didn’t tell me. That’s what I meant. He was going to meet his dealer. I was asking him not to.”

There’s another silence. A clatter of dishes behind the counter brings their location back to the forefront of Richie’s mind and he runs his fingers through his hair tiredly. He mostly just wants to go home and sleep, but there’s no way Bill is gonna let him drop this now.

“Is there anything else you c-can tell us?” Bill asks desperately, clutching Georgie’s phone so hard that his knuckles begin to turn white. “Anything at all?”

Eddie lays his hands flat on the table and taps his fingers in an erratic rhythm, like either he’s really nervous or really needs to fidget. “There’s a house he used to go to, to get the stuff.” He tells them, voice pitchy and stilted. “Neibolt house, up on–”

“I know where that is!” Richie cries, feeling useful for the first time. He’s been gone for about four years but now that he’s back all his memories seem to be flooding back. He and his friends used to hang around outside Neibolt house, playing chicken and daring each other to go inside. No one ever did.

“Let’s go then,” Bill says determinedly, standing up from the table and poking Richie’s shoulder until he stands as well. “C’mon Richie.”

“What– now?” Richie blinks in surprise, exchanging a worried glance with Eddie who’s watching the exchange with interest. Richie only realises then how close their faces are, and he jerks back, feeling guilty without really knowing why.

“There’s no point in waiting until morning.” Bill answers. Richie thinks back to those intimidating, high walls, the dark, cracked windows and sloping roof. He can think of a few reasons to wait.

“I can’t believe I’m driving to a crack den in the middle of the night.” He sighs despondently, and helps when he feels Eddie’s foot digging into his leg again. He takes one look at Bill, eyes downcast and lips pressed together, and feels a wave of guilt. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He doesn’t finish that sentence, because he has no idea what he didn’t mean.

“Let’s just go,” Bill turns away. Richie sighs and slaps a few Bill’s down on the table to cover their shit coffee.

“Thanks, kid.” He says to Eddie, and follows Bill out of the diner.

Richie only becomes aware that Eddie is still following them when he hears someone open his car door. Bill is sitting in the passenger seat, and they both turn around to stare at Eddie, half way climbed into the backseat.

“Um, what do you think you’re doing?” Richie raises an eyebrow. 

Eddie frowns. “Coming with you?” He replies, like Richie has asked a stupid question. 

“Uh, like fuck you are!” Richie is really not a naturally protective person, but a combination of wanting to keep this kid safe and acknowledging the fact that otherwise Bill will probably drag them all into danger has him objecting. “Did you miss the part where I said we were going to a crack den to find a potential murderer? I’m all for pushing limits, Eddie Spaghetti, but maybe you should sit this one out.”

Eddie blinks at him, lips slightly parted as his cheeks turn pink in anger. “Fuck you!” He cries, sounding indignant. “You’re not my mother, you don't get to say when I have to fucking _ tap out._”

“No,” Richie agrees, pleasantly surprised with the level of Eddie’s indignation. He’s tiny but angry, and Richie finds it fucking adorable. “But this is my car, and I can tell you to get the hell out.”

Eddie’s face falls as he seemingly can’t think of an argument against that. Richie feels a pang of guilt, but for him, trying to be nice often equates to being an asshole.

“Go home, kid.” He says through a cocky smirk. “Let your mom tuck you into bed. We’ll deal with this from here.”

He’s expecting - _ hoping _ \- Eddie to cuss him out again, or at the very least yell at him. However, Eddie just grits his teeth and blinks rapidly, like he’s holding back tears.

“He was my best friend, okay?” He says, slamming the car door and walking away. He doesn’t look back, but Richie watches as he disappears into the darkness with an inescapable sense of regret.

***

“So, what’s the plan?” He asks Bill once they’re in the car. It’s late and nobody else is on the road, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Bill leans his forehead against the window, breath fogging up the glass.

“We go in there.” Bill says simply, like it’s not something monumental, like it’s something they haven’t done before.

“Awesome, cool.” Richie nods, hands resting on the wheel. “I’m liking this so far. Then what?”

“Then we ask everyone in the p-place if they’ve seen G-Georgie.” Bill answers.

“Bill, dude,” Richie says. “You’re losing me.”

“Well do you have any fucking b-better ideas?” Bill gestures wildly with both hands, knocking into an empty wrapper on Richie’s dashboard and sending it flying to the floor. He watches it spiral down with hands curled into tight fists.

“Bill,” Richie says again, softer this time. “It’s been like, three weeks, and I doubt these people have been conscious for most of it. Will they remember him?”

“It’s the only thing we can do.” Bill tells him with finality. They lapse into silence after that, and Bill explores Georgie’s phone further. Richie wants to ask if he’s found anything interesting but that seems like an even bigger invasion of privacy.

Neibolt house is just as terrifying as it used to be, and Richie very suddenly feels twelve years old again. Vivid memories of him and his friends riding their bikes back and forth across this street spring to mind.

“Great, this isn’t spooky at all.” Richie mutters.

Bill leads the way inside, because Richie is fully convinced they’re going to die here. He almost says as much but stops himself just in time, figuring that it would be a tad insensitive.

The inside of the house is even worse than the outside. The wallpaper is peeling and grey with damp, and the whole place is smoky and cloying. Richie has to literally step over someone splayed out on the floor to walk up the stairs.

There don’t look to be too many ideal witnesses, but after a few moments of tense walking they come across an actual conscious person. He glowers at Bill as they walk up to him, but when he sees all six foot two of Richie he drops the hostile gaze and regards them suspiciously.

“You here to buy? You’ll wanna talk to Sammy. He deals with buyers.” His voice is nasal and his teeth are yellow. There’s food caught in his beard. He’s suddenly very relieved he didn’t let Eddie come here with them.

“N-No,” Bill jumps in. The man’s gaze flickers towards him, and Richie sees his eyes flash with amusement as he sneers. He swallows back his anger and turns to Bill.

“Hey,” He says under his breath. “Let me handle this.”

“You– handle anything?” Bill says doubtfully. Richie shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Rude. I just mean let me do the talking, okay? We both know how charming I am.” Bill looks like he’s about to argue - which, fair enough - but the man interrupts them with a pointed cough.

“Are you ladies gonna buy anything? If not, get the fuck outta here.” Richie spins on his heel with a charming smile.

“Hello, good sir.” He spreads his arms dramatically. “We were hoping you could be of assistance.”

“The fuck do you want?” He grunts, reclining against the wall and not seeming bothered when an unidentifiable insect crawls onto his shoulder. This place is foul, Richie thinks. What the hell was Georgie doing in a place like this?

Richie takes Bill’s phone when he offers it, holds up the picture of Georgie he has saved there. “When was the last time you saw this kid? We heard he hung out here sometimes.”

The man squints at the phone, probably trying to get used to the sudden brightness after so long in the dark, and then his lips curl up into a half smirk.

“That’s the kid on TV, isn’t it? Denborough? They found his body.”

Bill inhales sharply behind Richie, and he resists the urge to reach out and comfort him.

“Yeah,” Richie says, no jokes this time. “That’s him.”

There’s a pause. The house is far from silent - there are faint scuttling sounds coming from all around them, which is actually fairly terrifying - but Richie swears in that moment he can only hear his own breathing.

Then, finally, “He was here. The night before his face showed up on every fuckin’ screen in Derry.”

Bill looks up so quickly that Richie’s surprised he doesn’t snap his neck. “What did he d-do?” He asks, desperation colouring his words. Richie winces in commiseration. 

“Y’know,” The man runs the tip of his tongue over his teeth and Richie pulls a face. “If you’re not actually gonna buy anything, you’re wasting my time.” A second later he’s letting his eyes slip shut and tipping his head back. Richie bites his cheek and feels for his wallet in his pocket.

“That’s all I have on me.” Richie lies, shoving a few bills in the man’s direction. He snatches the money away quickly and pushes it below the waistband of his trousers. Bill and Richie exchange a vaguely horrified glance.

“He came in for Xanax and cigarettes. Pretty tame if you ask me, but hey, if people pay me I don’t ask questions. He was with someone else, as well. The other kid didn’t come in, pussy, but Sammy saw him through the window.” He jerks his thumb in the other direction. Both Richie and Bill follow the movement with wide, eager eyes, like kids being told a story.

“What did the other kid look like?” Richie asks. The man scoffs.

“Shit, man, even I knew who that kid was. Bowers’ kid is pretty fuckin’ infamous in Derry, don’t you think?”

“Bowers as in _ Sherriff _ Bowers?” Richie raises his eyebrows. He’d known of Henry when he was living here– the kid had gained a reputation quickly, but he’d been three or four years younger than Richie so he hadn’t paid it much mind. He’d had other things to care about back then, like uni applications and his actual, literal future.

Now, his attention is solely focused on Henry Bowers.

“They were t-together?” Bill sounds baffled, voice small and thin. “That doesn’t make any s-sense. Georgie h-hated him.”

The man shrugs. “I saw what I saw.”

That appears to mark the end of that conversation, and Richie, ever eager to get the fuck out of here, thanks him quickly before attempting to tug a very confused Bill out by the arm. Just before they can descend the stairs again, the man calls out to them.

“He was a good kid,” He says. “It’ll be a shame not to see him around. He was real sweet.”

Something about the way he says it makes Richie’s skin crawl, and he almost has to drag Bill out of the house by his fucking hair.


	3. Chapter 3

Richie wakes up early the next morning. Bill has taken to going on walks at the crack of dawn, says they help clear his head, so Richie is alone in a house with Bill’s two grieving parents.

He’s never known how to act around grief. Bill is easier because he’s Richie’s best friend and it’s not hard to fall into the same routine as always. Bill knows what to expect with Richie, so he’s unlikely to seriously offend him with anything he says.

Bill’s parents, on the other hand, are a different matter.

He briefly considers trying to avoid them altogether, but when he steps downstairs to find them both in the kitchen it becomes apparent that won’t be possible. 

Mr Denborough is a tough looking man with a sharp jawline and a penetrating stare that makes Richie want to flinch away every time it’s levelled at him. Mrs Denborough, on the other hand, is the mother Richie always wished he had. He hasn’t been to see his own parents since he arrived back in Derry, and he wishes more than anything he could take Mrs Denborough’s pain away because if anyone doesn’t deserve it, it’s her.

When she sees him, she arranges her features into something less hopeless, something a little more socially acceptable. Richie wants to tell her she doesn’t have to do that around him, but that would require him actually being serious for once and he doesn’t think he can manage that. His humour is his personality now.

“Richie, honey, come sit down. Bill left a while ago, but you can have some coffee.” She slides him a mug of strong, black coffee; it’s still warm, so they either made it with him in mind or he’s about to drink her coffee. Either way, he doesn’t want to argue so he takes it with a grateful smile and sits down next to her.

The TV is on, background noise that Richie zones out to. The coffee burns his tongue but he drinks it anyway, if only for something to do. He only snaps back to reality when Mr Denborough clears his throat and slams his mug down onto the counter.

“It’s a disgrace.” He says, voice gruff to hide emotion. “The police aren’t doing anything.”

“Zack–” Mrs Denborough interrupts, voice soft, but he continues.

“If they were any good at doing their job this would never have happened.”

Richie startles, looking between the two adults in confusion. His eyes flicker to the television where a news story is running. He only needs to see the words, ‘missing child’ before things click into place.

“Another child,” Mrs Denborough tells Richie quietly. “They found another teenager. In the same– the same way that they found Georgie. They’re opening a murder investigation for both.”

It feels like Richie’s heart stops, and for a moment he thinks he’s about to throw up all over their kitchen table. His mind instantly flies to brown hair, freckles, a tiny, furious teenager limping into the back of his car.

“Another… teenager?” Richie asks, voice thin and wobbly.

He’ll never forgive himself if something happened to Eddie, something that he could have stopped. He turned the kid away last night, refused to even let him get in the car. Why didn’t he just give the kid a fucking lift? It would barely have added ten minutes to their journey, and now Eddie might be–

“A boy called Adrian something. They found him washed up in the river, in the same place as Georgie.”

There must be more to it than that, Richie thinks, or they would just rule it a copycat suicide, but he doesn’t ask questions. He’s too busy catching his breath after the rush of relief, the knowledge that Eddie is safe and not murdered by some maniac serial killer.

His second thought is of Bill, of whether he’s heard and that’s why he went out this morning. It’s unlikely that anyone would dare attack someone in broad daylight but that fact doesn’t quell the worry growing in his chest, the urge to grab Bill and pull him back inside and keep him away from danger.

It’s ridiculous, because if anyone can take care of himself Richie knows it’s Bill, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference to Richie’s dumb unconscious.

“Do they have any ideas?” Richie asks, voice small. 

“They’re not telling us anything.” Mrs Denborough’s voice breaks and she catches her breath, pausing to wipe a tear from her cheek. Richie sips his coffee to avoid having to speak until she’s pulled herself together.

“They’re hosting a memorial at the school today. They invited us but…” she trails off, and Richie doesn’t make her explain herself. “But I think it would be good for Bill to go. Would you speak to him when he gets back? He was pretty upset when he left this morning.”

So that answers the question of whether or not Bill knows.

Richie doesn’t think he’ll have a problem convincing Bill to go to the memorial; it’s doubtful it’ll actually be very meaningful, but if it’ll give them an opportunity to ask some people some more questions he expects Bill will be up for it. 

It’s another half hour before Bill returns, hair sweaty and eyes suspiciously red. Richie doesn’t mention it, but they get ready for the memorial in silence. The car journey is short and silent, both otherwise occupied with the thoughts in their head. Richie doesn’t know what he can say to make this better for Bill.

There isn’t anything, he doesn’t think.

The school seems emptier today, fewer students milling aimlessly around. It’s not a brilliant turn out because as far as Richie can tell, neither boys were very popular, but he sees a few familiar teachers and does his best to avoid them.

Almost subconsciously, he finds his eyes scanning the crowd, searching for Eddie. His height usually gives him a vantage point in situations like this, but Eddie is small and sneaky and will probably be avoiding them. After the way Richie reacted last night, he wouldn’t blame the kid if he–

“Hey!” Richie turns suddenly at the feeling of a hand grabbing his arm. He yanks his arm away from the sudden interruption and takes a few staggering steps away before he notices the teenager standing in front of him.

“Eddie?” He asks, surprised, looking from side to side and wondering where Bill has disappeared to all of a sudden. “What are you doing?”

“Did you find anything?” He asks persistently, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling. “At Neibolt?”

Richie takes a breath and hesitates. Part of him thinks he should be sheltering Eddie from the story, like he did last night, but Eddie isn’t really a child. He’s eighteen, and he’s just found out that the person who killed his best friend is probably still out there. Richie can’t blame him for wanting to get involved.

“Fuck, kid, c’mon.” He takes Eddie’s wrist without stopping to think or second guess. Eddie’s skin is soft against his fingertips and he’s so small that Richie’s fingers can encircle Eddie’s wrist fully.

Even though there aren’t that many people around - he can see Bill now, talking to a teacher - he still drags Eddie round the side of the building. 

“Yeah, okay, we found something.” He tells Eddie, lowering his voice. “Some guy says he saw Georgie the day he died. He went to Neibolt for Xanax and cigarettes apparently. But he was with another kid– Henry Bowers.”

Eddie frowns, eyebrows drawing together, and it creates a little crease between his eyebrows that Richie wants to run his thumb over. Today he’s wearing a soft looking grey sweater and black slacks, probably in an attempt to look respectable for the memorial. 

“What?” Eddie asks shrilly. “That’s ridiculous. He hates– _ hated _ Bowers. The guy was an asshole.”

Richie zones out, too distracted by a stray eyelash on Eddie’s cheek to pay attention to what he’s saying. Without thinking he reaches out and brushes the backs of his fingers over Eddie’s cheek, overly soft and reverent.

Eddie’s words cut off straight away. In the distance there’s still the din of conversation and stampeding feet, but here, just Richie and Eddie, it feels like there’s a bubble of silence around them. Eddie’s mouth snaps shut and he looks up at Richie with big, dark eyes.

Richie wants to kiss him. He wants to hold Eddie’s face steady with one hand on his neck and the other splayed across the hinge of his jaw, wants to slip his tongue past Eddie’s lips and lick into the kid’s mouth, wants to push him up against the wall and–

“Sorry,” he blurts out, hoping his face isn’t red with embarrassment. “Eyelash.”

Eddie blinks, looking very much like he’s trying to pull himself back to reality. Richie likes the idea that his touch sent Eddie somewhere else, somewhere far inside his own head.

“You were saying?” He prompts, and Eddie swallows, flushing pink across his cheeks and scuffing his feet.

“Bowers and Georgie weren’t friends. I don’t know why they’d be together.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to ask him.” Richie says decisively, and realises his mistake a second too late. “Me and Bill, I mean. You should stay at home. If Bowers had something to do with this, following him around probably isn’t safe.”

A muscle in Eddie’s jaw clenches. “You and Bill are doing it. If it’s not safe for me, it’s not safe for you.”

“Yeah, but you’re–”

“_Eighteen. _” Eddie stresses.

“Acting like a _ child.” _ Richie counters. 

“I don’t know why you think you can handle this any better than me when you wouldn’t have had any of this information without me.” Eddie tells him sulkily. Richie thinks that’s a fair point, but he’s still not about to let Eddie run headfirst into danger for one of his own dumb plans.

“Maybe,” Richie concedes, but the whole point of us doing this is to keep you– people like you safe.” Maybe for Bill it’s about revenge, about closure, but for Richie… he has no clue what he’s doing this for if not for people like Eddie.

Eddie looks like he’s about to say something else, but suddenly there’s someone charging round the corner and almost sending Richie crashing to the ground. He’s half expecting to see Bill, but when he turns around, there's another teenager.

She’s a little taller than Eddie with a shock of red hair and shockingly pale skin. She takes in Richie with a look of surprise, eyes flickering between Richie and Eddie before she settles on Eddie and dismisses her questions with a shrug.

“C’mon, Eddie.” She says, not asking for an introduction. She takes his wrist and tugs him forward, in the same way Richie had done earlier. Richie tries not to feel satisfied when he sees her fingers aren’t even close to completely encircling Eddie’s wrist. “They’re starting.”

That means Richie should go too, but for some reason he stays exactly where he is, watching Eddie’s face and the way his lips press together in conflict. 

“There’s a club.” He blurts out suddenly, his friend frowning. “Neo or Nero or something. He hangs out there.”

The girl’s eyes flash with something then - recognition, maybe - but then Richie is turning and walking as steadily as he can manage back to Bill, standing on his own. Neither of them says anything at first and it almost feels tense, which doesn’t make any sense.

Richie relates this newfound information to Bill, if only to break the silence. He tells himself it’s not because he doesn’t want Bill to be annoyed with him.

“We’ll go there t-tonight.” Bill says decisively. “Is nine okay?”

Richie snorts. “Bill, I’m not gonna be doing anything else.” He isn’t going to be hanging out with anyone else, so he may as well get rid of the tiny flicker of hope inside his chest that pointed out he wished he was.

If the memorial hadn’t started just then, he might have noticed Eddie standing a few feet away, struggling to hear them over the sudden boom of a speaker. Instead, he turns to Bill with a different question.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tuning out the mindless drone of the headmaster. “Do you know who that girl was earlier? Ginger hair, kinda short…” He knows Bill technically didn’t see the girl earlier, but Richie feels reluctant to tell Bill he was talking to Eddie privately.

“Beverly?” Bill whispers back, frowning. “Sounds like Beverly Marsh. She used to hang out with Georgie sometimes. Why do you ask?”

Richie swallows and curls his hands into fists by his side.

“No reason,” he says.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been such a long time! Hopefully some people are still reading/enjoying this! <3

The club is packed by the time Richie and Bill arrive, and they have to elbow their way through the sweaty throng of people just to get to the bar. The crowd surges in unison, dancing to a beat that vibrates through Richie’s entire body, as he watches Bill get a drink. Richie has to sit there miserably. Being the designated driver all the time sucks.

They have to sit there for close to half an hour, scanning the bobbing mass of people and watching the door like a hawk to see if they can spot Henry Bowers’ infamous mullet. Bill, the bastard, just nurses his beer like he isn’t even enjoying it.

When Richie finally spots Henry slink in through the door his heart does a somersault in his chest and he reaches out to grab Bill’s arm so suddenly that beer sloshes out over the edge of his glass and ends up in his lap. Whatever, Richie totally didn’t do that on purpose.

“There!” He cries, screaming to be heard over the music. Bill follows his gesture and nods once, sharply, as soon as he spots Bowers. They start to push their way towards him and Richie only briefly mourns the loss of their seats. As soon as they confront Bowers and get whatever information they can out of him, Richie can go the fuck home and get into bed. Jesus, when did he turn into such a grandpa?

Richie keeps his fingers wrapped around Bill’s wrist so he doesn’t lose him in the throng of people. He’s a few feet away from the entrance, eyes still following Bowers as he pushes his way across the room, when he collided with another body headed the same way.

“Shit!” Richie’s foot slips and he clings desperately to Bill, his other hand flying out to grab onto the shoulder of whoever he knocked into. He manages to stay upright, barely, by sheer force of will.

Maybe by putting all his weight onto Bill as well, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Fuck, sorry! Wait–  _ Eddie?”  _ Richie gapes, yanking Bill back to his side. Standing in front of him with flushed cheeks and messy hair. He looks stricken at first and then he scowls, guilty expression morphing into a standoffish attitude.

“The fuck are you doing here?” He crosses his arms. 

“What am  _ I _ doing here? What are  _ you _ doing here? How did you even get  _ in _ here?” Eddie scoffs and tries to brush Richie’s hand off his shoulder, but Richie holds on tight.

“Did you get served? Are you drunk right now?” Richie isn’t sure why he’s persisting so much. He doesn’t really care if Eddie drinks underage, but the thought of him out alone, drunk and defenceless with a serial killer on the loose, makes dread coil up tight in Richie’s stomach. Eddie seems so small and despite it being a guilty turn on for Richie, he doesn’t think Eddie’s fireball attitude is going to help him if someone comes at him with a knife.

“No, Jesus, get  _ off _ me. We’re losing him!” Richie blinks, looking back over his shoulder to where Henry Bowers used to be. He’s gone, and Bill is watching Richie’s interaction with Eddie with barely concealed impatience.

There’s a moment of deliberation where Richie has to consider his options. Either he takes Eddie with him on their search for Bowers or he gives it all up for now and takes Eddie home. He’s not leaving Eddie on his own here, not after the blind panic he’d felt last time he left Eddie alone.

In the end Bill makes the decision for him; he tugs insistently at Richie’s hand and, when Richie looks at him pleadingly for help, he jerks his head towards the side of the room. Richie closes his eyes for a second and groans, feeling a headache building up behind his eyes. Then he closes his hand around Eddie’s smaller one, pulling him along.

Richie knows he should be worrying about Bowers and finding out whatever information he has to offer, but honestly he's too distracted by the feeling of Eddie’s hands clasped in his. Eddie feels so delicate and Richie loves that, if he told him that, he’d bite Richie’s fucking head off. 

They come to a stop just to the left of the bar, where Bowers is chatting up a girl over a beer. Eddie elbows Richie in the stomach until he’s in front of him and when Richie tries to complain about it he steps back, very carefully and deliberately treading on Richie’s toes.

“B-Bowers,” Bill taps him on the shoulder, bracing himself in the way that Richie has seen him do when he’s about to take a punch from an angry frat boy. As far as Richie’s concerned though, Bowers is the one who should be worried; Richie knows from experience that Bill has a mean right hook,

“The fuck are you?” Bowers turns slowly, lethargically, like he’s so drunk he has to will his body to do what he wants. Richie isn’t sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, whether it will improve their chances of getting information out of him or not. All he knows is that, when Henry’s eyes settle on Eddie, half hidden and dwarfed behind Richie’s giant frame, he doesn’t like the mean look that comes over his features.

“Kaspbrak? How’d a princess like you get in a place like this?” He sneers, giving Eddie a judgemental once over. Richie just knows before he even looks over his shoulder that Eddie is winding himself up for an attack, getting ready to deliver a blow. He can’t let that happen. Eddie would not win in a fight against Henry Bowers unless he’s hiding some serious muscle under those clothes.

Richie shouldn’t be wondering about what his body is like under his clothes but god, now he is and he can’t stop.

“We have some q-questions for you.” Bill says, only slipping up once. Bowers’ eyes flick to Bill again, like he’s annoyed at having his earlier taunt ignored. He wants a reaction, and Bill is determined not to give him one. Richie just hopes Eddie is on board with that.

“Fuck off,” Bowers shrugs easily, already turning away when Bill grabs his shoulder. It looks like a surprisingly hard grip, but then Richie isn’t really surprised that Bill isn’t taking some random teenager’s bullshit in this particular situation. 

“Georgie Denbrough. You were with him when he went to Neibolt.” Bill recounts the facts calmly, slowly, so that his stutter recedes. “I need you to tell me why he was there?”

Bowers pauses, turns slowly to take a closer look at the three of them. Richie wonders what he sees. One pissed off older brother, one scrappy teenager and one exhausted best friend probably. Then Henry takes an intimidating step closer to Bill and speaks right into his face.

“I said, fuck  _ off.” _ He says. Without warning, he’s shucking his drink all over Bill and shoving him backwards so that he stumbles a few paces and crashes into the bar. Richie is only aware that Bowers is running when Eddie takes off after him, darting between bodies and heading for the fire escape at the back. 

Surprisingly enough, it isn’t much of a contest for Richie. Bill has taken worse than this in his time at college and he’ll be safe inside the bar with all the other patrons. Eddie seems so small and young and, dare Richie say it, vulnerable. If he goes outside on his own, he’s not only facing a serial killer but also a crazy Henry Bowers, who may be just as bad.

Richie runs after him.

Eddie catches Bowers at the entrance to an alleyway that leads to the Main Street. It’s impressive really, the way someone so tiny can tackle someone so huge. It’s dark and it’s a fair distance away, but Richie could swear Eddie leaps onto Bowers’ back like a fucking ninja.

Of course, Eddie is so much smaller than Henry, and his tactic doesn’t work so well after the surprise has worn off. Richie has to watch, too far away even as he’s running towards them, as Bowers swings around and slams Eddie into the brick wall behind them.

“Eddie!” Richie yells, hoping his voice will scare Bowers away. It doesn’t. It doesn’t seem to have any effect, in fact, and instead Bowers just seems to pin Eddie up against the wall by his neck with more vigour. Eddie’s legs are kicking uselessly by the time Richie reaches them both, his hands clawing at Bowers’ where they’re scrunched up in the fabric of his t-shirt. He’s whispering things, foul things, Richie should imagine, under his breath to Eddie.

Richie doesn’t think twice. He hurts himself into Bowers, tackling him to the ground and hating the way Eddie slumps to the floor like a ragdoll. In his periphery he sees Eddie pick himself up and shake himself off so he knows it’s irrational to be so worried. If he’s a little rougher than necessary in holding Bowers down, no one has to know.

“What is your problem?” Richie hisses into Bowers’ face, holding him down at the wrists, a little worried that Bowers will surge up and headbutt him so hard his nose will break. “We just wanted to ask a fucking question.”

“I don’t have to talk.” Henry says angrily. “You’re not the cops. I don’t have to talk to you.”

His father is, Richie realises. He wonders if that has anything to do with how tight lipped he’s being. Richie inches his leg forward so that his knee is dangerously close to Henry’s balls before he repeats the question, slow and enunciated. Henry is silent for all of three seconds before he’s cursing loudly and thrashing to get Richie off him.

“Fine,” He says, reluctant. “Beverly Marsh, okay? It was Beverly fucking Marsh. That’s who he was getting the pills for. Go talk to her, alright? ‘Cause I don’t know shit else.”

Richie lets him go. If he’s lying, it’s probably the only lie he’s willing to tell tonight. They can talk to Beverly Marsh in the morning, and if it turns out she has no idea what Henry means then they’ll deal with that in the morning too. For now, Richie sits back on his heels as Henry scrambles to his feet.”

“You’re a psycho.” He says, before running away. Richie would take a second to appreciate the irony of this if he weren’t so shaken up. As it is, he watches Bowers’ retreating back until he’s out of sight.

“What the fuck was that?” Richie says finally, turning to Eddie with what must resemble the disapproving glare his father used to give him all the time. “What the fuck were you  _ doing _ in there? Do you have any idea how dangerous it would have been, even if all you did was confront Asshole Bowers?”

“Leave me alone,” Eddie snaps angrily, raking his hair out of his eyes with his hand. He looks like a little ball of pent up aggression, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Richie is kind of worries he’s about to punch the wall. “You don’t get to act like you’re so much smarter and safer than me because you’re a couple years older. I’m the one that actually lives here.  _ You’re _ the asshole.”

“Well you were clearly doing so well just now, I may as well not have been here, right?” Richie says. He is being an asshole and he knows it, but the thought of Eddie just running headlong into danger regardless of the consequences is not something he feels he should take lightly.

“You don’t  _ own _ me. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Eddie’s arms are crossed over his chest now, and his cheeks are colouring pink.

“I can politely ask you to refrain from fucking yourself over though, right? Is that acceptable? I mean, come on, kid. There’s a crazy serial killer running around targeting teenagers. I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to keep you  _ safe,  _ for fuck’s sake.” The words feel so foreign to Richie. He imagines himself in Eddie’s place with much more ease, his mind filling in the blanks so that it’s some other irritating authority figure telling him what not to do for his own benefit. He figures he’d probably feel like Eddie too.

“Yeah,” Eddie spits. “And there are a bunch of adults in this town that said they wanted to keep us safe as well. Fat fucking lot of good they did Georgie.”

Richie realises with a dawning sense of dread that Eddie’s bottom lip is trembling and his eyes are welling up with tears that quickly spill over his flushed cheeks. He looks unbearably pretty and Richie wants to cradle him in his arms until he’s safe and happy again.

“Oh no,” Richie whispers, mainly to himself, terrified to be presented with someone he needs to comfort. “Oh Jesus. Hey, don’t cry. C’mon, come here.” It’s relatively easy to pull Eddie towards him– he folds when Richie gives a gentle tug on his wrist, and allows himself to be enveloped into a hug. With his face tucked into Richie’s chest and Richie’s chin resting on Eddie’s head, it really does feel like they could be safe here.

But then Eddie is speaking, words muffled against Richie’s chest and warbled by the tears choking him. “I just really miss him.” He says, blunt fingernails digging into Richie’s bicep. “I just really fucking miss him. All the time. It should have been me.”

Richie doesn’t know how to respond to that. He wishes more than anything that Georgie was alive, that he could take all the pain and suffering away from Bill and his family. But there’s no way to deny the surge of panic he has to quell at the thought of it having been Eddie instead.  _ No, i _ s all he can think.  _ No, it really shouldn’t have. _

Richie strokes his hand over the curl of Eddie’s spine, up and down, in what is hopefully a comforting gesture. Little by little, Eddie gets his breathing under control and manages to reduce the crying to inconsistent sniffling. Richie’s arms are still draped over Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie’s arms are wrapped around Richie’s middle. At this point, Richie thinks, hopes, prays, they might just be holding one another because it feels good.

“God, I’m sorry.” Eddie sounds sheepish as he pulls away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. It’s too dark for Richie to get a proper look at his face but he knows that Eddie would look beautiful, even though his eyes are rimmed red and his nose is probably running. He battles to keep his arms down by his side and not reach out to stroke Eddie’s cheek tenderly.

“I didn’t mean to lose my shit at you. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to break down on you either.” Eddie laughs nervously, like that will lessen the effect of whatever just happened. Half of Richie wants to let him do it, knows that he feels awkward and just wants to put his mind at ease.

The other half wants to let Eddie know that it’s okay to cry. It doesn’t make him weak. He doesn’t have to be ashamed. 

“Uh, yeah, it’s fine.” Richie says instead, because he is an idiot who doesn’t know how to act appropriately in situations like these. “I’d cry too, if I copped a feel of these bad boys.” He flexes his biceps just to emphasise his point, but it doesn’t seem necessary. Eddie rolls his eyes and chokes out a laugh, earlier embarrassment all but forgotten.

Mission accomplished, Richie thinks. Sort of.

“Thanks for helping me out back there, I guess.” Eddie volunteers reluctantly, shrugging and looking down at the ground like it pains him to say it. Richie smirks, just to be a capital A Asshole.

“Anytime, sweet cheeks.” He says in an obnoxious, mafia style voice. “Just gimme a call.”

Eddie exhales sharply on an exasperated laugh and shakes his head, looking up at Richie from under his eyelashes, completely unaware of the effect that has. “Jesus,” He says. “You’re insufferable.”

Then he kisses Richie.

It only lasts a fraction of a second - he leans up on his tiptoes, presses their lips together and then steps away again - but Richie is frozen in place. The thing he’s been thinking about doing all evening, ever since he met Eddie… Eddie just did it. Just like that. No fuss, no questions asked. Eddie kissed him.

Richie wants him to do it again.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters under his breath, moving as though he’s about to leg it. Richie catches him by the upper arm just in time, clinging to him gently. He made the mistake, last time, of letting Eddie leave on his own. He’d barely gotten any sleep, and he still hasn’t forgiven himself. That was  _ before _ Eddie even kissed him.

Now, giving Eddie a lift home will be the least Richie will do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a great Christmas/holiday if you celebrate! <3

Richie feels more than a little shady, waiting in the car park outside Derry high school for a boy that’s barely even three years younger than himself. It’s not that he feels like a creep, because Eddie is eighteen and definitely mature enough to make his own decisions, but he feels like he’s doing something wrong if only because he hasn’t told Bill yet.

He doesn’t know how well Eddie and Bill know each other, and he doesn’t know how Bill would react if Richie started dating his younger brother’s best friend. 

_ Not as badly as he would if he found out weeks later,  _ says a small voice at the back of his head that wants Richie to tell the truth. Thankfully, it’s drowned out by the shrill ring of the school bell and the surge of escaping students.

Richie doesn’t get out of the car, because he’d texted Eddie earlier and they know where to meet. After Eddie gets in the car, Richie has no idea what they’re going to do; he hasn’t planned that far ahead and he’s probably going to be too nervous to suggest anything, but he’s also irrationally excited to see Eddie again.

Eddie had messaged him the night before. Richie’s phone had pinged with a new message and when he’d fumbled to pick it up, all it had said was  _ ‘I want to see you again.’ _

Richie had snorted, completely unsurprised that Eddie used proper grammar in his texts, and had typed back,  _ ‘wanna c u 2’. _

From there, they’d devised a plan to meet up. Then, Richie had lied to Bill.

That’s what he feels worst about. In meeting Eddie, he’s not only dating Bill’s dead brother’s best friend, but he’s also deceiving him. He’s lying to his best friend to see a kid he’s met all of three times, and sitting in the parking lot waiting for Eddie to show up, maybe the worst thing of all is that he doesn’t even regret it.

The passenger side door opens suddenly and Richie startles, not having noticed Eddie heading in his direction. He turns to greet him and the words die in his mouth. Eddie looks beautiful: hair tousled from the wind, lips chewed red, eyes big and hesitant.

“Hey,” he says quietly, staring intently at his knees as he tugs the seatbelt across himself. All of Richie’s breath leaves him in a rush.

“Hi,” he says reverently. “How was school?”

“Shit,” Eddie responds, no different from usual. “Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere private?”

Richie’s body flushes with warmth. Is he gross for thinking like that, for wanting Eddie like that? What if Eddie just wants to go somewhere else and talk about Georgie or their investigation? Or, alternatively, what if Eddie  _ is _ waiting for Richie to make a move and he just keeps hesitating?

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie’s voice, along with a tentative hand on his knee, breaks him out of his panic. He looks up to find Eddie watching him cautiously and once again he’s left floundering. “You okay? We… don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

As soon as the words are out Eddie’s cheeks flush a light pink. It’s so cute that Richie finds himself smiling dumbly, relieved that it isn’t just him feeling out of sorts. That, if anything, is reassurance that Eddie really does want to be here with Richie, doing whatever they’re about to do. 

“Look at you,” Richie murmurs, one hand coming up to brush across Eddie’s cheek, soft and gentle. “‘Course I want to.”

Eddie blushes, and Richie is momentarily astounded that someone with so much attitude bottled up inside them can blush so prettily, can be pleased so easily. They’re still in the school parking lot but all Richie can think about is how easy it would be to lean over and kiss Eddie right now, to cup Eddie’s face in his hands and press their lips together. He wants to remind himself what Eddie tastes like.

As if sending the new type of tension between them, Eddie blurts out, “You text like a twelve year old!”

Richie sits back in his seat, blinking in surprise. Then he snorts and shakes his head fondly, starting the car and driving away. He has no idea where he’s heading but Eddie doesn’t object, so he pulls up to park in the first lay-by he sees. The road is pretty well deserted so they have the place to themselves, but as soon as they’re stationary Richie isn’t sure what to do with himself. He turns to Eddie for support, only to find Eddie already looking at him.

“Hey,” Richie says stupidly, smiling, nervous.

“Hi,” Eddie replies indulgently. 

“You come here often?” Richie jokes. Eddie reaches over to flick his nose.

“Stop being corny, you’re gonna turn me off.” He’s so cute when he smiles that Richie wants to lean over to pinch his cheeks.

It feels natural when Richie leans over the console and brushes the pad of his thumb over Eddie’s cheekbone, down to the tip of his nose and over his bottom lip. Eddie holds his breath as he does it and Richie watches for his reaction, completely entranced. This time, it’s Richie who kisses first.

Eddie’s lips are soft and warm against his own. He tastes sweet, Richie notices distractedly, like sugar, and when Eddie whimpers a little and his lips part, Richie slides their tongues together. It isn’t slow or innocent, and it gets heated fast. It’s been a while since Richie has wanted anybody as viscerally as he wants Eddie, and now he has him all to himself he can’t stop his hands from wandering. He touches Eddie’s face, his neck, slides his hands down to the curl of Eddie’s waist and feels just under his shirt. Eddie’s skin is warm to the touch but Richie still manages to bring goosebumps to the surface.

“Fuck,” Eddie pants when they break apart, their faces so close that Richie can see every minute, perfect detail. “God, you’re hot.”

Eddie’s hand seems so delicate when it strokes Richie’s cheek, feels the stubble he couldn’t be bothered to shave that morning. He’s curious, exploring Richie’s body just as much as Richie was touching his.

“You really know how to stroke a man’s ego, huh?” Richie snickers. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Hey,” Richie whispers, unsure why he’s being so quiet but not wanting to shatter the gentle atmosphere that’s settled over them. “Can I do something?”

“What?” Eddie frowns, confused. He looks down in momentary surprise when Richie unblocks Eddie’s seatbelt for him, but when he looks up again his expression has cleared and he’s watching Richie with breathless anticipation. 

“Can I suck you off?” Richie asks. Eddie’s head thunks back against the seat and he squeezes his eyes shut, his expression one of intense concentration.

“Oh my god,” he says through gritted teeth.  _ “Please.” _

Richie fumbles to get the button and zipper of Eddie’s trousers undone, using his other hand to rub the hard line of Eddie’s cock through the material. Eddie is watching with wide eyes, chest heaving, his hand curled around the edge of the seat so tightly that his knuckles have turned white.

“So pretty,” Richie murmurs, taking Eddie’s cock out of his underwear and holding it reverently, thumb rubbing the ridge at the head. Eddie keens, long and low in the back of his throat.

Richie leans over the console in the middle of the car. The gearstick digs into the soft space below his ribs but the feel of Eddie’s cock in his mouth takes his mind of it. He’s missed this, missed the weight and taste of it on his tongue, missed the way he can bring someone to tears just with his mouth. 

Eddie, who has never done this before, doesn’t last long.

“Fuck, shit, oh my  _ god.” _ When Richie looks up from under his eyelashes, Eddie has tears welling up in his eyes and he’s biting his own fist to keep quiet. Determined to get some sort of noise out of him, Richie bobs down and hollows his cheeks, sucking so it’s just on the right side of pleasure and not pain. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Eddie, doesn’t want to give him more than he can handle, but it gets what Richie wanted. Eddie’s mouth falls open and his hips jump; he lets out a desperate, guttural moan.

“I’m coming,” he whimpers, legs spreading further apart. Richie places a hand on his thigh for balance and squeezes, loving the way Eddie feels under his hands.

Richie dips the tip of his tongue into the slit of Eddie’s cock and that’s all it takes to push him over the edge. He arches his back when he comes, pushing his cock deeper into Richie’s throat and coming in ropes into his mouth. Richie swallows it, because it’s hot but also because he doesn’t want to mess up the seats of his car with come stains.

Richie pulls off, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and watching Eddie for a second. He looks boneless, slumped in the seat with his head thrown back and the long, unmarked line of his throat on display. He’s gorgeous. He’s the most beautiful thing Richien has ever seen and he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to get to do this with Eddie, to introduce Eddie to this sort of pleasure. 

He doesn’t even notice that he’s stroking himself through his trousers until Eddie, sitting up in his seat, bats his hand away.

“Can I?” He murmurs, hand rubbing softly over the bulge in Richie’s pants. Richie’s hips twitch forward into the wonderful pressure and he nods enthusiastically.

Eddie’s hand is soft and a little clammy as it slips into Richie’s underwear. His movements are stiff and inexperienced, but Richie is so worked up that it isn’t going to take more than a sloppy handjob to get him off. He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him, and when Richie meets his gaze he tightens his grip a little and twists his wrist.

“Is this okay?” Eddie whispers. “Am I doing it right?”

It’s that, more than anything, that pushes Richie over the edge. Eddie’s soft, sweet desire to please has him gasping and fucking up into Eddie’s fist as he comes all over Eddie’s fingers. 

His orgasm leaves him drained. All he wants to do is pull Eddie into his arms and go to sleep, but he knows they can’t do that. Eddie has a curfew, and if Richie is out for too long then Bill will start to get suspicious. He wishes they had longer, but the idea of a forbidden romance is sort of exciting, Richie has to admit.

After a few moments where they both get their breath back, Richie’s head lolls to the side and he grins dopily at Eddie.

“So,” he quips. “Next time tomorrow?”

***

The third time Richie sneaks out, Bill finally comments on it. It’s been a long time coming and Richie has been expecting a complaint since the first time he snuck away to meet Eddie, but for some reason it still takes him by surprise, and he’s left stumbling over his words with no idea of what to say.

“Are you m-meeting Eddie?” He asks, arms folded across his chest and a stern expression on his face. He’s cornered Richie in the kitchen, whilst his parents are still asleep. 

“What?” Richie replies, voice pitched too high to be natural. “What are you talking about? Eddie? Like, the guy from school?”

Bill rolls his eyes and cocks his hip against the counter. “Yeah, that Eddie. The one you k-kissed outside the c-club.” At Richie’s shocked, guilty expression, Bill sighs.

“I saw you, dipshit. You didn’t have to f-fucking lie to me or w-whatever. If you w-wanna fuck a high school kid, g-go for it.” Bill can be nasty when he’s upset. Richie forgets sometimes because they get on well and it’s so rare that Richie is ever on the receiving end of Bill’s bitchy tirades, but he’s remembering all to quickly how Bill’s words can sting.

“Jesus, Bill.” Richie says, quiet and hurt. “Way to make me sound like a pervert. He’s, like, two years younger than us.”

“Three,” Bill corrects him. “And G-Georgie’s best friend.”

Richie doesn’t think he could say anything to that that wouldn’t be incredibly hurtful, and as mean as Bill can be when they’re arguing, he doesn’t want to permanently ruin their friendship over something that seems to small and stupid in the grand scheme of things. 

“Is that what this is about?” Richie asks cautiously. Bill hates to be handled with kid gloves, and Richie sees his eyes flash with anger, realises his mistake a second too late.

“What this is  _ about,”  _ Bill spits, enraged. “Is that we’re here to find out what happened to my  _ b-brother. _ Not for you to get your d-dick wet with some high school kid who p-probably just wants to lose his virginity before college.”

Richie stills. That shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but the words echo around his head before they’re taken over by white noise. Bill  _ knows _ how Richie gets with things like this, has seen the way anxiety eats at him from the inside out, knows what the fear of being used does to him. He’s being needlessly cruel, and Richie doesn’t have any adequate comeback that won’t taking it too far.

“Fuck you, Bill.” Richie says instead, voice wavering pathetically. He’s already late to meet Eddie and he’s not going to make Eddie wait any longer so he can stand around and argue with his asshole of a best friend. He sweeps out of the kitchen in what is probably an overly dramatic gesture, but Bill doesn’t call him back or try to apologise. Richie slams the door behind him on the way out.

Richie decides to drive to where he’s meeting Eddie, because he’s already late and his head is so clouded that he’d probably get lost if he tried to walk. Who the fuck does Bill think he is, making out like Eddie is a child and Richie is just some sad loser desperate to get laid? Fuck him, he has no idea what he’s talking about.

Eddie isn’t there when Richie pulls up at their meeting spot, but Richie doesn’t think about it too much. He’s still angry at Bill, still hurt, still worried that his words might be accurate. How well does he really know Eddie anyway? How many conversations did they have before they started hooking up? They didn’t exactly meet under the most normal circumstances, and is it really a good idea to build a relationship around the murder of a common acquaintance?

It isn’t until another ten minutes have passed that Richie begins to get antsy. What’s taking Eddie so long anyway? Did he decide that Richie wasn’t actually worth his time? Richie checks his phone but there’s no new message, and when he scrolls up, their string of texts confirms that Eddie knew the day and time and place.

Richie calls Eddie with trembling fingers, dread building gradually in the pit of his stomach. Something feels wrong. Eddie would have told him if anything about their arrangement had changed; he definitely wouldn’t have left Richie in the dark when there’s a serial killer around targeting teenagers.

_ Fuck,  _ Richie thinks,  _ don’t let anything have happened to him. Please God, don’t let anything have happened to him. _

The dial tone rings and rings, a dull droning in his ear that seems to last forever.

Eddie doesn’t pick up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait! Hopefully people are still interested! <3

Henry Bowers is not a good person. He’ll gladly admit to that, because he doesn’t have many friends and he doesn’t want them. He didn’t like George Denbrough and the kid knew it, what with how much Henry bullied him, but that doesn’t mean that Henry wanted him to  _ die.  _ That doesn’t mean that Henry wants  _ anyone  _ to die, and the fact that there’s some creepy kid killer lurking somewhere in Derry puts him on edge. 

He can’t do anything about Georgie, but maybe he can help the others. Maybe he  _ should  _ help. 

That’s how he finds himself waiting impatiently for Beverly Marsh outside Neibolt house as dusk falls over Derry. A hush lies over the town like a blanket and Henry jumps, genuinely startled, when he hears the squeal of wheels on tarmac coming from behind him.

Beverly hops off her bike and crosses her arms across her chest. “What do you want?” She asks, hostile. “Why did you call me here?”

Henry grinds his teeth. He fucking hates that he has to let people talk to him like that but with a serial killer on the loose and all the pre existing rumours floating around about Henry, not even his father could get him out of the charges if he were to attack another teenager.

“I need to tell you something.” He says, and continues quickly before Beverly can interrupt. “And you can’t tell anyone I told you.”

There’s an ugly pause. Beverly’s arms slowly unfold and drop to her sides. “What is it?” She asks warily. “I’m not making any promises.”

“If my dad finds out I was buying from here, he’ll fucking kill me, alright? If you go to the police about this, I’ll kill you myself. Understand?” There must be something in Henry’s voice that Beverly hears, something wavering, something scared. She hesitates. Her eyes dart around quickly, like she’s just for the first time realising the danger she could be in, before she nods, sharp and jerky.

“I won’t tell,” she says. “What is it?”

Henry inhales deeply. He can feel a headache coming on and his hands are starting to shake. He needs a fucking cigarette.

“The night Georgie died,” He starts. “That last night that I saw him… he was going to you.”

Some unreadable expression flits across Beverly’s face. Henry doesn’t think that the goosebumps popping up on her skin have anything to do with the breeze.

“He was getting the drugs for you.” Henry continues. “You knew that. You asked him to. He was heading to your house. I walked with him - you can walk past it on the way to my farm.”

“What are you saying?” She knows, Henry can tell. She knows what he’s getting at without him even having to say the words out loud. 

“I  _ saw  _ him walk up to your front door, and knock, and go inside. Next day, he’s dead. I didn’t think anything of it, y’know? I figured he must have left and that’s when some serial killer kid fucker got him, something like that. Then I saw you and that fag Adrian Mellon hanging out together. You were friends, weren’t you? You were with him the day before he died?”

“We were working on a school project together.” Beverly says softly. The bright surfaces of her eyes are glassy with tears.

“And then he shows up dead.”

“I wasn’t in that night.” Beverly says suddenly. A tear finally spills down her cheek and she bites her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. “The night that Georgie came round. I was at the school library. When I came back… no one was home.”

There is a brief, tense silence. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls out and it shatters the illusion that they are alone. If nothing else, at least Henry can say he did this. He helped.

“I have to go,” Beverly whispers. Henry doesn’t try to stop her as he grabs her bike and cycles away. He doesn’t call the police or tell anyone what Beverly might do. He just walks home, and makes sure he’s done his chores before his father gets home. The world is only entitled to so many good deeds a day. 

***

When Richie’s phone rings, he almost falls off the bed with how quickly he tries to answer it. His pulse races and he hopes to god that it’s Eddie, that he’s fine, that he just left his phone somewhere and forgot they were supposed to meet up. 

It’s not Eddie. An unknown number flashes across the screen and Richie’s heart sinks. He would even prefer that it was Bill calling to yell at him again. As it is, he just sighs and holds the phone to his ear. Everything has been strange since they first arrived in Derry – what’s another mystery caller?

“Hello?” He asks, frowning. “Who is this?”

“Richie Tozier?” A voice comes through over the speakers, tinny and distant. It sounds familiar but he can’t place where it’s from. 

“Yeah,” he stands up, begins to pace. “Who is this?” 

“Beverly Marsh,” and oh, now Richie remembers. The redheaded girl who’d spoken to Eddie the other day. He wants to ask how she got his number, but there are definitely more pressing concerns to deal with at the moment. Maybe she knows where Eddie is. Shit, if he just wanted to avoid Richie, it would  _ hurt,  _ but it would be preferable to thinking he’s dead in a ditch somewhere.

“I need to talk to Eddie,” Beverly says, and Richie’s hope shrivels and dies.

“He’s not here.” He says, panicked. “I’ve been calling him and he’s not picking up.”

_ “I’ve  _ been calling him and he’s not picking up,” Beverly replies. He heard her curse under her breath, hears the spin of wheels. She must have gotten off her bike to make this call– but why? Where is she? Doesn’t she know there’s a  _ serial killer  _ on the loose? Richie doesn’t know how anyone could forget it.

“I need you to come and meet me,” when she speaks again, she sounds even more frantic. “I think Eddie’s in danger. I need you to meet me on the bridge, where… you know.”

Yeah, Richie knows. It feels like he’s been doused with ice water.  _ Eddie’s in danger  _ keeps going round and round in his head like it’s on a loop and he’s stuffing his feet into his shoes before he’s even responded.

“What’s going on?” He asks. Beverly doesn’t respond for long enough that Richie checks his phone to see if they’ve been cut off. He can tell she’s been crying by the rasp to her words when she next speaks.

“I think I know who killed Georgie, and Adrian, and I think Eddie is the next target.”

***

Bill is driving when he gets the call. It’s Richie, and they haven’t spoken since he stormed out of the house earlier on so Bill doesn’t know whether to take the call. He was harsh, probably too harsh considering Richie is his best friend and hasn’t had a stable relationship in years, but he’d just been so  _ mad.  _ He’s mad at everyone: at the world, for letting this happen, at whatever sick asshole killed Georgie, at  _ Georgie  _ for sticking himself into a dangerous situation. He hadn’t meant to take all that anger out on Richie, but he’d just been  _ there. _

In the end Bill decides that he owes Richie an apology, so he picks up the phone. He’s really glad that he did.

“Bill, where are you?” Richie sounds terrified. Bill has known him for years and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard his friend sound as scared as he does now. His hands tighten around the steering wheel and panic builds slowly in his stomach.

“I’m–” Bill looks out the window quickly to catch a glimpse of his surroundings. He’d just been driving, he hadn’t really had a destination in mind, but now he sees that his subconscious has brought him to the last place he wants to come back to: the bridge.

A few days after Georgie’s body was found, someone set up a small memorial for him in the middle of the bridge where he went over the rails. There were flowers and candles all surrounding Georgie’s latest yearbook photo. Bill didn’t have any idea who did it, but he hated it, hated seeing the living proof of Georgie’s death. Then, after Adrian Mellon met the same fate, it reappeared, doubled in effort. The first thing Bill notices now is that shrine. The candles are all out and flower petals are scattered across the ground like some morbid pathway. A stuffed teddy lies lifeless on its side, glassy button eyes staring into the distance. Bill parks his car, skin going cold all over.

“I’m at the bridge,” he whispers, seemingly unable to speak any louder. Tears prickle at his eyes. 

“Bill, you have to hurry!” Richie yells. Bill hears multiple sets of footsteps and Richie is panting into the phone, so Bill figures he must be running. If  _ Richie  _ is running, it  _ must  _ be serious. 

“Richie, what’s g-going on?” The slip up doesn’t even embarrass him. He’s too scared.

“It’s Alvin Marsh!” Richie says. “He’s the killer! He killed Georgie and Adrian and I think he’s going to kill Eddie!”

For a moment, Bill can only sit there in shock, trying to take it in. He  _ knows  _ Alvin Marsh, has done for years. Bill’s father is friends with. He’s been to their house for  _ dinner,  _ for fuck’s sake. Why would he kill Georgie, or any of the others? 

But that disbelief only lasts a second before it’s replaced by fury and a hatred so strong that Bill feels dizzy with it. Two shadowy figures come into view at the very end of the bridge, and Bill squints to see better. One of them is short, with a backpack crushed against the railing behind him where he’s being held. They’re fighting.

“I see them,” Bill says lowly, looking around for anything in the footwell that he could use as a weapon. Other than a few empty food wrappers, there isn’t much there.

“Bill, don’t do anything stupid!” Richie says. “We’re almost there. Just stay where you are and wait for us. Bill!” But Bill is already reaching out to end the call. This guy has killed two people already– they don’t have much time.

As he approaches, Bill is hoping wildly that he’s wrong. Maybe this is just a misunderstanding, maybe it’s not Alvin Marsh, the man he grew up knowing. He wants to believe it, but with each cautious step closer he knows that’s not the case. Bill can barely make out their faces in the dark but he knows what he will find before he sees it.

“S-Stop,” When he tries to speak, Bill’s voice is no more than a whisper. He feels frozen, like he’s watching Georgie die and he’s unable to stop it all over again.  _ “Stop!” _

The taller figure on the bridge pauses. The wind bites at Bill’s exposed skin and, when Alvin Marsh twists around to glare at Bill, defenceless, he feels so much colder. Eddie still has Marsh’s hands wrapped around his neck, slowly squeezing the life out of him. When he sees Bill, his mouth falls open and he moans helplessly, fingers scrabbling at his throat.

“Bill?” Marsh asks, squinting. In the darkness, the whites of his eyes shine ghoulishly. “Bill Denbrough? That you?”

“Stop,” is all Bill can say, hands curling into fists. “Let him g-go.”

Marsh sighs. He steps away from Eddie - a relief that doesn’t last long - who falls to the ground and curls up on his side, wheezing. If Bill can just distract Marsh for long enough then maybe Eddie can crawl away, maybe he can get help, maybe he can at least survive this– even if Bill doesn’t. 

“I remember you,” Marsh says. He takes a step closer and Bill takes a step back. If he’d waited like Richie had said, Eddie would have died. Now it looks like Bill might be the next victim instead. “You’re Zach’s son. You were always a good kid.”

Whether or not that means Bill is safe, he doesn’t want to take any chances. If he can distract Marsh for long enough for Richie to arrive, he’ll have a chance. 

“So was Georgie,” Bill says, fighting back a sob. He wants answers, but most of all he wants revenge. He realises with only a little concern that he could kill someone– he could kill this man. It isn’t something you can know until you’re looking into the eyes of the person you want dead.

Marsh’s face twists into a scowl. “No,” he says. “He wasn’t. He was always hanging around, like a fucking parasite. He didn’t even  _ try  _ to hide what he wanted. You think I don’t know what he was doing? I had to protect her.”

“Protect who?” Bill asks. Behind Marsh, he can see Eddie crawling away. 

_ “Beverly,”  _ Marsh hisses. “I know what boys want from her. Your brother wouldn’t leave her alone, so I had to deal with him. Then that  _ other  _ boy showed up at  _ my _ house, thought I would believe they were doing a school project. So I dealt with him as well.”

“They were  _ friends.”  _ Bill cries. “They didn’t  _ want  _ anything!”

_ “Liar!” _ Marsh lurches forward suddenly and Bill startles. He tries to get away but his heel catches on the uneven ground and he trips, lands on his back and knocks his head against the floor. Pain shoots through him bright and intense, and before he can get up Marsh is overtop him, wrapping his hands around Bill’s neck and squeezing. Even in the darkness, Bill can see how red his face is, how dark his eyes are. He looks like a monster. When he speaks, saliva sprays across Bill’s face.

“I dealt with them,” he says. “And now I’m going to deal with you.”

Bill’s vision goes blurry. He tries to say ‘stop’, cry for help,  _ anything,  _ but he can’t suck in enough air to do so. Georgie died because one crazy man couldn’t let his daughter grow up, and now Bill is going to go in the exact same way. It  _ hurts,  _ but at least Eddie got away. At least they know who the killer is now, and he’ll never be able to hurt anyone else again.

Distantly, Bill hears the squeak of tyres on tarmac and a door slamming shut. Somebody screams, “Bill!” But he barely hears it, the word carried away on the wind. His eyes slip shut…

And then somebody shakes him awake. Fingers dig into his shoulders and his head is lifted up gently, held in someone’s lap. Bill opens his eyes and, even though the picture in front of him still seems bleary and blurred, he can just about make out the people around him. Richie is kneeling at his side, Beverly hovers over him nervously and Eddie stands at his feet, trembling hands wrapped around a rock. It’s stained with blood. Alvin Marsh lies, motionless, below him.

“Oh my god,” Richie gasps. “I thought you were dead. I thought you were both dead.”

Bill’s throat hurts too much to speak, and he can only mumble incoherently in response. Eddie drops the rock and it hits the ground with a thud.

“Nope,” he says. “Not today.”


End file.
